Wartime Princess

by Valerie Wilding

  ‘But it was all going to be all right,’ I sobbed. ‘Mr Churchill had plans, and we invaded France and beat the Germans there, and they’re not beaten at all.’

  ‘You should listen more carefully when Papa’s talking,’ she said. ‘Britain has rallied round and we have marvellous defences against the doodlebugs.’

  I sniffed. ‘Have we?’

  ‘We certainly have,’ she said, fishing out her handkerchief. ‘Here, dry your eyes.’

  ‘What defences?’ I asked. I suspected she was making it up to make me feel better, but I should have known she wouldn’t do that. She’s too honest.

  ‘Fighter planes,’ she said. ‘Hundreds of them over the Channel. They try to shoot the doodlebugs down, but any that get through run into a barrage of balloons just inland – that brings them down. If any slip through, we’ve more fighters waiting for them. You’ll see,’ she finished with a smile.

  I blew my nose. ‘That’s good.’

  ‘Have you practised your speech yet?’

  My stomach turned over. ‘I’ll fetch it now, and you can listen to it.’ I held out her handkerchief. ‘Thanks.’

  She put both hands up, palms out. ‘You can keep it.’

  July 3rd

  The day’s nearly here for Mummy and me to visit a school in Windsor. I’m to make a speech in the afternoon. I’ve practised so many times, I know it off by heart, but I feel sick every time I think of doing it. Papa has difficulty with speeches, I know, but Mummy doesn’t, and Lilibet was just amazing when she made her first speech. It was as if she’d done it a hundred times before.

  But I haven’t done it a hundred times, and I’m nervous. I’d almost rather sing the children a song.

  No, I wouldn’t.

  July 5th

  Too many doodlebugs have landed on Windsor for my liking. I wonder if they’re aimed at the castle.

  July 23rd

  Lilibet and I are in London tonight, and it’s strangely quiet. Thousands of people have evacuated because of doodlebugs. We heard one flying overhead when we were walking in the park at Windsor today. You’ve never seen anyone move so fast. Lilibet grabbed my hand and we raced, bent over, to the nearest trench, and leaped into it. Good thing I’ve been practising running-to-safety-in-the-trenches at Guides! Luckily, the doodlebug continued on its way. Luckily for us, but not for the poor souls where it finally landed.

  Papa left today for a tour of the troops. We’re not allowed to know exactly where he’s going. No one is except the prime minister and Papa’s own people, and the top army officers. None of the staff even know he’s gone away, and we’re not telling. We can’t put Papa’s life in danger by leaking information to the wrong people.

  Lilibet’s now in her role as Counsellor of State and will act for Papa, signing things and so on, in the Privy Council. They’re Papa’s top advisers. She also has to go on visits, not just to military people, but to ordinary ones, too. I suppose I’ll do that sort of thing in a couple of years’ time. I hope I can do it as calmly and carefully as Lilibet. I hope I can trust myself to get it right!

  I did make a jolly good job of my speech at that school, though I say so myself. My skirt hid my shaky knees! Mummy said she was proud of me, and it was comforting to have her sitting smiling up at me. Papa always says she’s a soothing presence when he does something difficult. He means speeches.

  Lilibet has made two visits to Aunt Marina at Coppins, and each time Philip was there! I wonder…

  He’s left to join his ship now, so she’s sad, but she’ll have nice memories. And there’ll be lots of letters, I’m sure.

  August 25th

  Great news! Our armed forces have freed Paris from the Nazis! Imagine how happy the French people must be. Papa said, ‘Wine will flow freely tonight!’

  Not many doodlebugs get through these days. Oh, it’s wonderful! Things are turning in our favour. I wish that fiend (as Granny calls him) Hitler would just give up. He must know he’s going to be beaten.

  September 9th

  Good news and bad news.

  The good news is that Belgium has been liberated from the Nazis. They’re free.

  The bad news is that, far from giving up, Hitler’s fighting back with a terrible new weapon. I must keep it a deathly secret, because Mr Churchill doesn’t want the people to know about it, in case it starts panic.

  It’s a new type of doodlebug. The first one was officially known as the V1. This is the V2, and it’s even more powerful. It flies faster than the speed of sound, and no one knows it’s coming. The explosion makes a huge crater in the ground, and everything around it is destroyed. The people are being told that the explosions are from gas mains, whatever they are. All I know is my papa looks terribly strained.

  An awful thought has hit me. If the king shares the responsibility for his people with the prime minister, leading the country through war could be something my lovely, pretty sister will have to do one day. Well, I’ll be there for her. She can share it with me, too. Allah always says, ‘A trouble shared is a trouble halved.’

  But I’ll always be thankful that it’s not me who’ll be queen.

  September 20th

  Mummy said there haven’t been any of those horrid V2 rockets for a couple of days now. Perhaps the Nazis have run out.

  I’ve knitted my first sock without dropping stitches and having to have them rescued. Lilibet said we should tell the newspapers, so I hit her on the head with The Times!

  October 5th

  I spoke too soon. The V2s are back. I don’t know if Londoners really believe the explosions are all caused by gas.

  Papa’s going abroad again soon, to visit troops in Holland. Strange to think that not so long ago he wouldn’t have been able to do that, because the country was overrun by Germans.

  October 26th

  Princess Beatrice has died. She was eighty-seven, which is an enormous age. Her mother was Queen Victoria, whose reign, apart from one year, was in the last century. From where I’m sitting, I can see her portrait. How old-fashioned she seems to us twentieth century girls.

  November 4th

  Lilibet talked today about our grandfather – Mummy’s father, the Earl of Strathmore.

  ‘He’s not well at all,’ she said.

  ‘Is it his chest again?’ I asked. He had the most dreadful cough last time we saw him.

  She nodded. ‘He has bronchitis. It’s very bad, Margaret.’

  The way she said it made me stop asking questions, because I didn’t want to hear the answers.

  Poor Mummy must be terribly worried.

  November 8th

  Our grandfather died yesterday. He was such a sweetie – deaf as a post, but he always smiled as if he could hear what I was saying. Uncle Patrick will be the Earl now, as he’s the oldest son.

  Poor Mummy. She’s so brave.

  November 27th

  A beastly, horrible thing happened on Saturday. A V2 rocket hit a Woolworths shop in London. It was lunchtime, so lots of workers were in there shopping. Nearly 150 people were killed, but more may have died since. Of course, the people know now that these massive explosions aren’t caused by gas. The prime minister told them a couple of weeks ago. How terrifying to know you could be wiped out in an instant, all because that mad Hitler wants to take over the world.

  Our pantomime’s well under way now. It’s going to be different this year. It’s called Old Mother Red Riding Boots. And for once, Lilibet will play a lady!

  December 5th

  Lilibet was upset this morning, because Philip’s father, Prince Andrew of Greece, died in Monaco on Sunday.

  ‘I know Philip hasn’t seen him for years,’ she said, ‘and, to be honest, I don’t believe they were close. But still, it’s terrible to lose your father. Look how awful it’s been for Mummy. He was only sixty-two.’

  ‘Poor man,’ I said, ‘but that
’s quite old, isn’t it?’

  ‘Not at all,’ she said. ‘Papa’s nearly fifty.’

  Fifty seems old to me, but my papa’s not old.

  ‘Does Philip know?’ I asked.

  ‘I believe his grandmother told him. He’s in Ceylon at the moment.’

  ‘You shouldn’t tell me that,’ I said teasingly. ‘Walls have ears, you know!’

  She looked at me severely. ‘Margaret, there’s a time and a place for humour.’

  Ooh. She is grown-up.

  I’m sorry for Philip, though. His family’s spread about all over the place. I don’t know how any of them can be close. I’m so thankful for my little family. Even when they get cross with me!

  January 24th 1945

  Papa has at last given in to Lilibet’s pleas to be allowed to do her bit for the war effort. She’s going to join the ATS. An officer called Junior Commander Violet Wellesley is teaching her to drive a car, and then she’s going on a course at Camberley, to learn to drive big vehicles like trucks and ambulances, and to look after them. She’ll be 230873 2nd Subaltern Elizabeth Windsor of the Auxiliary Territorial Service. She’s been measured for her uniform and Papa says she’s bouncing with excitement. He’s so sweet – I know he’d rather she stayed at home and just did official duties. But she’s so determined.

  February 4th

  We’re spending far more time at Buckingham Palace now. It’s good, because we see old friends, and have lots of visitors and parties. Everything’s much livelier.

  Lilibet has plenty of official engagements planned – all sorts of things. She’ll be opening schools, visiting hospitals, taking salutes and so on. Sometimes she represents Papa. For instance, she went to officially wave off Uncle Henry, the Duke of Gloucester, when he went to Australia to become their governor-general. Papa couldn’t go, so she stood in for him.

  Because she’s so busy, there are loads of travel discussions, dress fittings, and lots and lots of hats. Some of the clothes and hats might appear new, but they’re often old ones made over with different trimmings to give them a fresh look. Lilibet laughed when I joined her for an outfit-selection session.

  ‘Are you honestly interested in the clothes I’m wearing to an exhibition?’ she asked.

  ‘No,’ I said, ‘I’m waiting for you to grow out of them. Lilibet, you really should eat more!’

  She sometimes offers to do engagements for Papa. I know why. It’s because he looks so tired these days.

  ‘He has so much to worry about,’ she said, as she interfered with the jigsaw I was doing. ‘He knows far more about the war than anybody except Mr Churchill. I believe that one day we’ll all be told things we never dreamed of. “Dream” is probably the wrong word,’ she added. ‘I think “nightmare” might be more fitting. There,’ she said, pressing rather too hard on a puzzle piece. ‘That’s the missing bit of the church clock.’

  ‘It’s actually a bit of ship’s rigging,’ I said, trying to prise it out. ‘I’ll finish this myself, thanks. You go and have tea. I’ll be along soon.’

  It’s nice to have time to myself, because we’re always busy these days. I’m not complaining! It’s lovely to be invited to some of the parties Lilibet goes to and, of course, when Mummy gives little dances for her at the palace or Windsor, I go, too. I love dressing up and swapping jewels for the evening with Lilibet. She has more than me. And I absolutely adore the music and dancing.

  We frequently have guests at Windsor, and Mummy invites lots of young men. The place is often crawling with Guards officers. Lilibet’s noticed, too.

  ‘Margaret, every one of our male guests for next Friday is what Mummy and Granny would call “suitable”,’ she said.

  ‘You mean they’re for you to choose a boyfriend?’ I asked.

  ‘I think that’s the general idea,’ she said. ‘Oh, I wish Philip was here. Not for any particular reason,’ she added hastily. ‘But he is rather fun.’

  I think Mummy’s invited those young men because Philip isn’t here. Perhaps she hopes Lilibet will take a fancy to one of them.

  My sister usually knows her own mind. I’ve noticed that as she’s grown older, she looks at things from all angles before making decisions. And if people don’t agree with her, she’s liable to dig her heels in.

  She wants Philip.

  February 11th

  Lilibet has joined the ATS. She can’t go every day, of course. One thing Papa’s insisted on is that she comes home every evening. But she’s determined that when she’s on duty, she’s to be treated just like the other women. She means it, too.

  When the war’s over, Lilibet and Philip will both be able to say, ‘During the war, when I was a serving officer…’

  I won’t. Left-at-home Margaret, I’ll be.

  March 3rd

  Lilibet is definitely in love with Philip. She told me. Well, not in so many words. She’s always careful in what she says, but I know her too well. She loves him. I hope he loves her. He’d better.

  I did ask Mummy if she thought Philip might propose to Lilibet. She laughed that little light laugh of hers that isn’t really a laugh, but gives her time to think.

  ‘Who can foretell the future, darling?’ she said.

  I waited. I thought that if I kept quiet, Mummy might keep talking. She did.

  ‘We like Philip very much, of course we do,’ she said, ‘and he’s certainly proved himself in the war. He’s a fine young man, and I know Lilibet is fond of him. But…’

  Again, I waited.

  ‘But she’s so young. Too young to know her own feelings.’

  ‘Mummy, she’s eighteen. Grown up.’

  Mummy had all sorts of ‘buts’. But they don’t really know each other. But he has no proper home. But he may not be as fond of Lilibet as she is of him. It went on and on.

  She ended by saying, ‘Lilibet meets lots of eligible young men. Who knows what will happen?’

  For once, I think Mummy’s wrong, wrong, wrong.

  March 4th

  Lilibet’s old tutor, Mr Marten, is now Sir Henry Marten. Papa knighted him on the steps of Eton College Chapel today. It was lovely. Lilibet gave him a beautiful smile. She’s fond of him.

  ‘He’s such a character, and he’s been a wonderful teacher,’ she said. ‘I thought constitutional history would be dry and dusty, but he made it so interesting.’

  Sir Henry must be about seventy, and he looks a dear. The boys gave him three mighty cheers. Lilibet says he’s been teaching at Eton for ever. It’s nice that he gets a reward for all he’s done, especially for packing my sister’s head with so much history.

  March 7th

  Oh, I cannot wait to grow up. Lilibet has such a good time. She’s adoring being in the army. Most mornings she gets collected by car, has a lovely time with ‘the girls’ and comes home in the evening, bursting with funny stories. The drivers learn how to look after their vehicles, so she talks about spark plugs and axles, changing tyres and goodness knows what else. She also told us she takes her turn serving meals! Yesterday she drove us around the park in Papa’s car. It was a bit jerky, but she’s really good. We passed some people out walking, and they absolutely gaped to see Princess Elizabeth at the wheel and the King of England holding on for dear life!

  She still has to do official engagements, but she’s glad to do them, and is always smiling in the photographs. I’m not quite as smiley. Sometimes she nudges me and hisses, ‘Smile,’ and still edges me towards where I’m supposed to stand. It’s a bit bossy, but it does stop me forgetting myself and going wrong.

  Lilibet has her own suite in Buckingham Palace now, and a new lady-in-waiting, called Jean. The poor woman lost her husband a few months ago, and she’s quite young. She’ll have fun with Lilibet and Mary, another lady-in-waiting. They do dreary things like answer letters, but they also go on official engagements, which must be lovely if you haven
’t got to make a speech!

  March 20th

  We went to see 2nd Subaltern Elizabeth Windsor at work today! It was funny seeing her in overalls, with her head under the bonnet. Her tools were spread out on a cloth on the ground, and she carefully told me what they were all called. Yawn.

  Mummy had a careful look at the engine, which was filthy, and asked what Lilibet was doing. I’m sure she didn’t understand a word of the reply.

  I feel so proud that my sister’s doing what all those other women soldiers do.

  April 13th

  I hardly see Lilibet these days. She goes to bed straight after dinner most evenings.

  ‘I’ve never worked so hard in my life,’ she told Allah one evening, as she flopped into an armchair and put her slippered feet on a footstool. Mummy and Papa were out for the evening, so we had supper with Allah in the nursery, like the old days.

  ‘I wish I could join up,’ I said. ‘Wouldn’t it be fun to go together?’